The Ones Who Need A Hand
by NeverMessWithTeddyBears
Summary: One day, Clara Oswald told Sherlock Holmes about a mad man with a blue box that's smaller on the outside. Another day, Sherlock Holmes promised to find him. AU-ish.


**The Ones Who Need A Hand**

* * *

_"This one's for believing,_

_if only for its sake,_

_c'mon, friends, get up now,_

_love is to be made."_

* * *

Sherlock Holmes made a promise.

So, Sherlock searches and looks for and tries to find that mad man with a blue box that's smaller on the outside because he made a promise to Clara Oswald. He promised to find him.

And that's a promise Sherlock Holmes intends to keep.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes does his research.

He asks and questions and looks through Scotland Yard's archives and, hell, he even bloody _googles_. It doesn't help him much - _some_, yes, but not _much_ - because that man is somehow impossible to find and it gets on Sherlock's nerves.

"You seem somewhat flustered, Sherlock.", John mentions sometime later.

"A year, John. A _year_!", he yells out, pacing around the room, "A whole _bloody_ year and _nothing_! _Absolutely nothing_!"

"_Sherlock_-"

"I need a cigarette, John."

John furrows his brows, "I thought you stopped."

"Well, I didn't.", he searches through his desk, "Where did I put them?"

"I think Clara threw th-", John stops himself, "I'll buy some for you later, alright? Now, what's really bothering you?"

"_What_.. What if I don't find him, John?"

In one of the rare moments in his life, Sherlock Holmes expresses self-doubt.

"You'll find him, Sherlock. I know it."

(_In another rare moment, Sherlock Holmes decides to believe something that is not a fact._)

* * *

"Yes, I've met the Doctor."

The words ring in Sherlock's ears as he examines them over and over, reading into them, memorizing every sound, every syllable, every movement of the lady's tongue.

"He looked different, though. Not how you described him."

Sherlock nods, "As expected."

Clarissa Thompson smiles as she reaches inside her bag. Getting out a blue folder, she turns back to Sherlock, "I thought this might help.", she gives him the folder.

"What's inside?", Sherlock asks, trying to play calm and not open the folder; not let in to the curiosity that runs through his body.

"Information.", she replies simply, "You said you wanted to find him."

"I know what I said."

"It'll take time, Mr. Holmes.", she says, "But the journey'll be worth it."

Sherlock Holmes furrows his brows.

"He's a brilliant man, sir."

Sherlock nods again.

"I would believe nothing less."

(_Because Clara Oswald was just as brilliant. She was oh-so brilliant. Still is. Fact._)

* * *

John Watson looks through the piles of papers as Sherlock Holmes' head rests on the desk. He doesn't wake him, as the world's only consulting detective has been up for the past week, but simply examines the papers with a sharp eye usually reserved for injuries and x-ray scans.

Every picture he sees holds a different event and a different man witnessing it. He stays in the shadows, Watson notices, but he's there, as present as death and it intrigues him.

He assumes the man is the Doctor, putting the bits and pieces of information he gathered from Sherlock together. It's nothing he expected - the man never looked the same - but John Watson learned one thing while living with Sherlock Holmes at _221B_, Baker Street; nothing is ever as expected.

So, he puts the papers down - making sure he puts them at the exact same place, preserving Sherlock's creative chaos - and leaves the apartment, making his way home.

He prays to God that the Doctor shows himself soon.

* * *

One day, Sherlock Holmes gets a call.

"Mind coming to the station, Sherlock?"

He huffs, "Why?", he asks, "I am currently not taking any stupid case of yours, Lestrade."

"It's not that, Sherlock.", Lestrade sighs and Sherlock can almost see him leaning his head on his arm in annoyance, "There's a guy here."

"So?"

"Introduced himself as Sherlock Holmes.", Lestrade mentions, "Last time I checked, you don't wear bowties."

_Bowties._

Sherlock Holmes ends the call without as much as a '_goodbye_' and dials a new number.

"John? Meet me in front of your house in five minutes. I believe I've found him."

(_John Watson's phone slips through his fingers._)

* * *

"Who are you?"

The man smiles, "The name's Sherlock Holmes."

"Not possible.", Sherlock smirks as the man's face falls, "You see, I'm Sherlock Holmes."

The man's eyes widen.

"Your name?", Sherlock asks.

The man gulps, "John Smith."

Sherlock raises an eyebrow, "Now, you seriously think I'll believe that? Don't make me laugh.", he asks.

"Well,", the man shrugs, "most people usually do."

"I'm not most people."

The man chuckles, "Of course you're not.", he exclaims, "You're Sherlock Holmes; I impersonated you on multiple occasions - once even in front of sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself!"

Sherlock ignores the information, "Where is she, _Doctor_?"

"How-"

"I have my ways.", Sherlock cuts him off, "Where is she?"

The Doctor leans in, "Who?"

"_Clara_. Where is Clara?", Sherlock repeats, "Where is she?", he raises his voice.

"Sherlock, easy.", John says and Sherlock closes his eyes, taking a breath.

"Where is she?"

The Doctor's look darkens, "Last time I saw her, she died."

Sherlock's expression stays blank, "That won't stop me, Doctor.", he says, folding his hands, "She's very.. _skilled_ at dying."

"How do you know Clara?"

"Irrelevant."

"_Oh_,", the Doctor counters, "it's most definitely relevant. How did she appear here? She was _not_ supposed to be here."

"What's that supposed to mean, Doctor?"

The Doctor waves his hand, "Wibbily-wobbily..", he pauses and smiles, "_Irrelevant_."

Sherlock Holmes sees through his game, "I met her six years ago at a motel in Cardiff.", he answers, "We were - in the lack of a better term - _dead_."

"_Dead_?", the Doctor repeats, furrowing his brows, "Where did she go?"

"She died, Doctor.", Sherlock replies, "But, I wouldn't read too much into that."

"Apparently,", John adds, "she's used to it."

"She remembered?"

"She _dreamed_, Doctor.", Sherlock says, "She dreamed about a mad man with a blue box that's smaller on the outside.", he explains, "You obviously fit the description - so, where's the blue box?"

"I thought you wouldn't give too much thought to dreams, Mr. Holmes."

"This is different."

"And what is it that you want with my TARDIS?", the Doctor asks, leaning his head to the side.

"I am in no need for your TARDIS, Doctor - other than a form of verification, it is of no service to me.", Sherlock answers as if it was already implied.

"Then what exactly do you want, Mr. Holmes?"

"Isn't it obvious, Doctor?", Sherlock comments, "I want to find Clara."

"Why?"

"Not important."

"Obviously is when you were so eager to find me.", the Doctor mentions.

Sherlock shrugs, "She is a friend. I care for my friends."

The Doctor nods.

"Well, so do I, Mr. Holmes. So do I."

* * *

"Stop it."

_Blank._

_Blank._

_**Loneliness.**_

"Stop what, Doctor?", he plays dumb, speaking with barely realising it.

_Blank._

_**Self-hate.**_

_Blank._

"The deducing. You're not really subtle.", the Doctor answers calmly.

_Blank._

_Blank._

_**Death.**_

"I'll work on that for next time, then.", Sherlock Holmes replies and John Watson simply shakes his head at his stubborness.

The Doctor ignores it.

"Geronimo."

* * *

(_He thinks he saw her, once. The woman was about her height, with the hair the same in color and length._

_"Clara!", he wanted to yell out, but it left his mouth in a loud whisper._

_In that moment, the woman turned and he saw it wasn't her._)

* * *

They go through places and time and space and they find nothing.

"How can you say we found _nothing_, Sherlock?", John asks, "We've seen more things in a week than people see in their entire lifetime!"

"That,", Sherlock gestures around him, "serves no value to me, John. I want to find her. I _need_ to find her."

The Doctor looks at him, "Why do you need to find her, Sherlock? Why did you even make this promise?", he asks, his face showing pure confusion.

Sherlock doesn't answer with an emotion, "Take us home, Doctor. This has been no help."

The Doctor doesn't back down, "What is it so special about her? Please, answer me, because I also want to know. I saw her die twice, Sherlock. _Twice_. And then she somehow just sprung back to life in another place."

"She is a mystery I want to solve."

John snorts, "_Oh_, there's much more to it than that, Sherlock.", he turns to the Doctor, "He doesn't have much friends, you know. And yet he told her everything. She knew him almost as well as I did, and that's a _lot_.", he explains, "She cared for him and I think he cared for her, too. In his own way."

Sherlock stays quiet, and the Doctor takes it as a confirmation of John's words.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock.", he says, his eyes darkening, "But there is nothing I can do.", he apologizes, turning their back to them and walking to the control board, "I'll take you home. Same place, five minutes after we left.", he looks up the TARDIS, "Something tells me you won't play with us this time.", he tells her with a whisper that holds deep sadness and John can hear the TARDIS humming in response.

* * *

"Excuse me, but do you know where I can find-"

"Clara?", he breathes out her name, as if he's surprised to see her or she's come back from the dea- _no_, she's not going there. But he has this look on him, this type of relief and it's like he's been worried or God knows what and, apparently, he knows her.

"How do you know my name?", she asks, her eyes widening in surprise.

Then, she sees the relief disappear.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes.", he ignores her question.

She gives him a tight smile, "So I've noticed. I read the papers, you know."

He smirks, "I found him."

"Who?"

He ignores the question again, "You were asking a question.", he states.

Realisation downs on her, "_Oh_, yes. _Right_. Where can I find a good motel?"

He pauses, "Well, there's this motel in Cardiff. I lived there for three years; the service is crappy, but the company was brilliant.", he says, complimenting her without Clara even realising it.

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, I'll-"

Sherlock cuts her off, "But I'm looking for a roommate.", he says, handing her a card, "The service is brilliant, although the company can be a bit.. annoying, as I've been told."

She laughs, "I'll think about it, Mr. Holmes."

He gets up to leave, "The name's Sherlock. And the address is _221B_, Baker Street."

* * *

"She doesn't remember. She doesn't remember me, John."

John Watson sighs, "I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"Why are you sorry?", Sherlock asks, slight confusion on his face, "You didn't do anything wrong, John."

John shakes his head, "It's an expression, Sherlock."

Sherlock picks up his violin, "I've asked her to move in."

John's head shots up at his words, "Did she say yes?"

"She said she'll think about it.", Sherlock replies. He stops playing for a moment, "What could she mean by that?"

"We'll see, Sherlock.", John smiles at his lack of knowledge when it comes to women.

Sherlock continues playing Vivaldi.

(_His phone rings two hours later._)

* * *

(_John tells her to make sure Sherlock eats and sleeps and that he likes to keep body parts in the fridge. She raises an eyebrow - just like last time - and he laughs, "I know."_)

* * *

Clara opens the door to Sally Donovan.

"How can I help you?", she ask, smiling.

Sally hesitates, "Is the fr- Sherlock here?", she says, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

Clara nods just as Sherlock reaches the door.

"What is it, Donovan?"

She sighs, "I got a case."

"Then why didn't Lestrade call me?", Sherlock asks, even though he knows the answer.

Sally shakes her head, "This one's mine. A few kids went missing. Upper class. Got ransom demands and a week's time."

Clara crosses her arms, leaning on the door frame, and switches her attention to Sherlock's reaction.

"You want me to help you find them.", he says and it's more of a statement.

"The parents don't want to pay.", Sally mentions, "They think we can get them out before and save them a trip to the bank."

Clara lightly gasps, "They care more about the money than their own children?"

Sally nods in agreement to Clara's tone, "Apparently. It disgusts me."

"What do you have so far?", Sherlock asks, but Sally pushes the folder into his arms when he was just in the middle of the sentence.

"The car's waiting outside to take us to the last place the kids were seen. I'm assuming we'll need to drop by John's place?"

Sherlock nods, sends a text to John and gestures to Clara to gather her things.

"You're not serious.", Clara replies. Sherlock stays silent. Clara shakes her head and puts on her coat, "Fine."

When they reach the car, Sally stops.

"Sherlock.", she calls out and he turns to face her, "Thank you.", she says and he nods.

(_Clara Oswald can now understand why Sherlock Holmes gets excited over a case._)

* * *

One night, Clara Oswald dreams.

"You found him?", she asks, walking into Sherlock's study. He's awake, still high on the last case he solved, and he doesn't quite register her question.

"Clara?"

Her voice breaks, "When I first met you, you said you found him."

Realisation hits him, "You remember?"

She shakes her head as tears fall from her eyes, "It can't be, Sherlock. It makes no sense."

"Sometimes, things just don't."

"The first time I met you, you knew my name."

He smiles, "It wasn't the first time I met you."

(_Clara Oswald remembers._)

(_Sherlock Holmes holds her tight._)

* * *

"What's wrong?"

_**Simple red dress. Hair let loose. Brown eyes.**_

_Blank._

_Blank._

_Blank._

"I still can't read you."

She smiles, "Maybe I still don't want you to."

He smiles back.

* * *

_**A.N.:**_** Here it is. The sequel to "**_**The Experts At The Fall**_**". I actually started this three times. The most stressful thing in my life is writing **_**Wholock**_**. Fantastic, but stressful. I'm seriously starting to believe sir Arthur Conan Doyle's ghost will start haunting me any day now, because this.. I honestly don't know what to think about this.  
Oh, and **_**missyTARDIS**_**, I **_**will**_** make a post-Trenzalore one (**_**that doesn't tie to this, though**_**) even if it's the last thing I do, 'kay? Promise.**


End file.
